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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585467">Maybe This Will Make it Hurt a Little Less</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoFudge/pseuds/IndigoFudge'>IndigoFudge</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angel Eddie Kaspbrak, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Diary/Journal, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is Bad at Feelings, Eddie Kaspbrak is Temporarily Dead, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Guardian Angel, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mentioned Bill Denbrough, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Soft Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris Lives</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:42:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,695</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585467</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoFudge/pseuds/IndigoFudge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Several moments pass. Then: "Oh... my... God. Are you seriously this fucking stupid? Richie. Come on. It is me, you big idiot!" From out of nowhere, a ghostly invisible hand comes down on Richie's shoulder.</p><p>He screams. </p><p>"No! No! That's not true - that's impossible!" shouts Richie in the first Voice that comes to mind. It sounds ridiculous, but he doesn't care. His pulse is so sped up that he can barely feel it. Tingles run up and down his spine; he shivers with a sudden chill.</p><p>"Dude! Are you fucking kidding me?! You can't actually be doing Luke fucking Skywalker with me right now, can you? Are you that fucking-" The same ghostly hand becomes briefly visible and cuts through the air in a karate-chop motion. "Fucking listen to me, dickwad!"</p><p>Richie shuts up, fast.</p><p>or</p><p>After dying, Eddie becomes Richie's guardian angel.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TW - tasteless drug joke (made by Richie), mentions of past character death, alcoholism, paranoia, dark thoughts, s**cide talk (but no actual s**cide).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Richie, honey."</p><p>Bev's voice is almost nauseatingly calm. Richie doesn't know how she can speak without crying. Fuck, he hasn't <em>stopped</em> sobbing since he got back home. He's just been locked up in his room, only leaving to pay the food delivery people. "What?"</p><p>From the phone screen, Bev folds her hands. "Are you eating?"</p><p>That definitely wasn't what Richie expected her to ask. He thought she would say something like <em>wow, your apartment is a mess</em> or <em>we're at your door right now to help you get your life back together.</em> "Yeah. Take-out, mostly. Not Chinese though." It's a weak attempt at being funny; no one laughs.</p><p>"Well, we just wanted to call and check in. Bill told us he tried to visit you and you wouldn't even come to the door?" </p><p>Richie's mouth hardens into a frown. "I only answer the door for UberEATS and prostitutes."</p><p>Ben and Bev trade a glance. "That's a- a joke, right? You're not actually hiring prostitutes? Of course there isn't anything wrong with that - I respect sex workers, I'm a feminist - but I'm just not sure that's <em>healthy</em> right now..." Ben trails off.</p><p>"Ha. Yes, it was a joke, Ben. No prostitutes here. Only mounds of cocaine. I miss those sweet, sweet Maine winters - gotta get that snow somehow." Richie kicks back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs. "That was a joke too. Look, guys, it was really nice of you to call or whatever, but I'm fine<em>.</em> I'm just <em>grieving.</em>" And then because he can't help himself, he adds "Something that <em>you both </em>don't seem to be doing anymore."</p><p>"Sweetheart, we're both grieving too, but we- you can't stay holed up in your room forever," says Bev. "Eddie would have wanted-"</p><p>Richie lurches forward, the front legs of the chair slamming back onto the ground. "You don't get to say that. None of us fucking <em>know</em> what he would have wanted because he's <em>dead,</em> because of <em>us</em>."</p><p>Bev's sympathetic smile slips off her face. Ben lies a hand on her knee. "We did the best we could, Richie," he says.</p><p>Richie's quiet for a while, squeezing his hands into fists. "Yeah," he whispers, looking at the floor so he doesn't cry. "I know."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mike calls the next day. "Hey, Rich," he says. "Sorry I can't FaceTime, I'm on the road right now. How've you been holding up?"</p><p>"Better," Richie lies. "Where are you headed?"</p><p>"Florida." From the sound of it, Mike's smiling. "Hey, keep checking your mail - something is on its way."</p><p>Richie scrubs at his face. "What, the letter from Stan? I already got that. Cried enough to fill three goddamn Olympic pools, too."</p><p>"I know. It was tough. I had to sit down for a long time after reading it. But that's not what I'm talking about," says Mike. "I'm sending you a package. It's a... a journal." On the other end of the phone, there's a muffled car horn.</p><p>"Journal? Why?"</p><p>"Because I think it would be good for you. Get your feelings out on paper, have a space to talk about things without fear of judgment. Alright?" </p><p>"I don't know, dude, that sounds kind of... if I write this shit down, then I have to let myself feel it, you know? And I don't want to spend more time doing that than I already do." Richie winces, even though he knows Mike can't see him over the phone.</p><p>Mike sighs. "Just... just promise me you'll think about it."</p><p>"Okay. I promise, Mikey," says Richie, just to get Mike to stop talking about it. "Bye."</p><p>"Bye."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The journal arrives the next day.</p><p>Richie shoves it in a drawer and forgets about it for a week.</p><p>On August 24, he's searching for the scissors and finds the journal. He gives up after writing - and subsequently crossing out - two sentences.</p><p>He writes in it on and off for the next month, his entries gradually getting more frequent.</p><p>On September 27, he gets a response.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Richie's Journal</em>
</p><p>
  <em>August 24, 2016</em>
</p><p>
  <strike>I mis</strike>
</p><p>
  <strike>I don't kn</strike>
</p><p> </p><p><em>August 29,</em> 2016</p><p>This is stupid.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 3, 2016</em>
</p><p>I don't like writing in diaries and I'm only doing this because they made me. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 5, 2016</em>
</p><p>Bev is watching me do this over FaceTime. I have to pretend to write shit in here. I want to draw a dick. </p><p>Haha, I guess I never really grew up.</p><p>
  <em>[in the middle of the page, a drawing of a dick]</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 18, 2016</em>
</p><p>
  <em>[the page is tear-stained and the writing is messy.]</em>
</p><p>I didn't forget about this, I just didn't care enough to write in it, but nothing else has helped so this is worth a try. Maybe if I write everything down I can stop thinking about him 24/7.</p><p>I fucking miss him. </p><p>He begged me to stay and I didn't. I thought I needed to go help them. I thought he would be alive when I came back but he wasn't. He died alone and it's my fault. If I'd stayed, I could have kept a hand on his face and kept him awake, I would have fucking slapped him if that's what it took. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 20, 2016</em>
</p><p>
  <strike>I'm sorry Eds I loved you</strike>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 21, 2016</em>
</p><p>I don't know what the fuck that was. I got drunk and I guess I thought I could talk to <strike>you </strike> him directly through this book. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 23, 2016</em>
</p><p>Had a nightmare about him last night. He died.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 24, 2016</em>
</p><p>Had the same nightmare. This time he grew wings afterward.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 25, 2016</em>
</p><p>Okay, this shit is getting tiring. Same nightmare again. He told me everything would be okay right before he bled out in my fucking arms.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 26, 2016</em>
</p><p>Same nightmare. But this time, before things could get too bloody, it all kind of faded away, and I was in a meadow. He was there. No hole in his chest or anything. He hugged me for a long time and told me to stop drinking so much. Well guess what, dream-Eddie? You don't get to tell me what to do!</p><p>Fuck shit fuck. I just heard a noise, and then I saw someone in the hallway. If I die tonight it's because I was murdered.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 27, 2016</em>
</p><p>No nightmare tonight. I was in the meadow like last night. We lay down on the grass and watched the clouds. He held my hand the whole time. He told me he's glad to see me writing in this thing, but that I should seriously quit the alcohol. Then he told me "It's all going to be alright, Richie. You're alive." That's how I know he's fake, and I'm not astral projecting into heaven or whatever. The real Eddie would make fun of me and throw in a couple "asshole"s.</p><p>In other news, I'm pretty sure my apartment is haunted, so that's fantastic. I heard more noises. When I woke up this morning, all of the empty bottles in my room were gone. I looked - they're in a recyclables bin in the kitchen. I DON'T HAVE A RECYCLABLES BIN.</p><p><em>[at the bottom of the page, lightly written in: </em>"I know you don't, asshole."<em>]</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 28, 2016</em>
</p><p>So not only is my apartment haunted, but the ghost is rude, too. Hey, wannabe Beetlejuice: only Eddie gets to call me an asshole.</p><p><em>[at the bottom of the page, lightly written in: </em>"You are the dumbest person on earth. Also, I read this whole thing."<em>]</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 29, 2016</em>
</p><p>I'm going to channel Kim K here and say "Don't be fucking rude!"</p><p>You shouldn't be reading my journal. I don't care if you're alive or dead, there's some pretty embarrassing shit in here that I don't want anyone seeing.</p><p><em>[at the bottom of the page, lightly written in:</em> "Don't care. You're a horrible author."<em>]</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>September 30, 2016</em>
</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Hello?</p><p><em>[at the bottom of the page, lightly written in: </em>"Hi."<em>]</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Richie stares at the page in disbelief. The word had appeared on the paper before his eyes, being written in by a pencil that seemed to be held up in midair. "Uh... hi? Wow. This is super weird for me, I've never met a ghost before." </p><p>He stares at the paper as new words are penciled in: "I'm an angel, not a ghost, asshat. <em>Your guardian</em> angel. Be more grateful next time."</p><p>A smile pulls at Richie's lips. He chuckles dryly. "Yeah, okay. I'll try to be more grateful <em>next time</em> I get a guardian angel. Hey, what's your name, anyway?"</p><p>There's a long pause before the next words appear: "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."</p><p>Richie scoffs. "I fought a demon clown from outer space twice. Try me." His smile lingers for a minute, then drops off his face as he watches the new words.</p><p>"Eddie."</p><p>"Uhhhmm," says Richie. "I knew an Eddie once. That's a coincidence." Tears stab at his eyes.</p><p>From two feet away, there's a loud frustrated sigh. "<em>Idiot.</em>" New words begin to appear, but Richie is too busy staring slack-jawed at the open space to pay attention.</p><p>"Shit<em>,</em>" he gasps out. "That just gave me a heart attack! You can talk?!"</p><p>"You can hear me?" comes the reply, sounding just as shocked as Richie.</p><p>"Uh, <em>yeah," </em>Richie says. A sour feeling rises in his mouth. The voice sounds eerily familiar. <em>There's no way, though. </em>"How come I couldn't hear you before?"</p><p>A hum. "I never tried talking before. Just assumed you wouldn't be able to hear me. That's the way shit like this usually works, right? In the movies?"</p><p>"I- I guess." Richie swallows. "H-hey, um- so, like, is there any chance that-" The words break off into a semi-hysterical laugh. He presses the backs of his hands to his closed eyelids, trying to wish away the bloody images that keep replaying in his head. </p><p>"Any chance that... what?"</p><p>"Well, it's fucking stupid, but- could you be... like, modeled after someone I knew? The Eddie I mentioned? I just- you sound exactly like him. And you share the same name. So did you, like, take the form of him so I could have a guardian angel that's <em>familiar</em> to me?" Richie's heart <em>kathumps</em> in his chest.</p><p>Several moments pass. Then: "Oh... my... <em>God.</em> Are you seriously this fucking stupid? Richie. <em>Come on.</em> It <em>is</em> me, you big idiot!" From out of nowhere, a ghostly invisible hand comes down on Richie's shoulder.</p><p>He screams. </p><p>"No! No! That's not true - that's impossible!" shouts Richie in the first Voice that comes to mind. It sounds ridiculous, but he doesn't care. His pulse is so sped up that he can barely feel it. Tingles run up and down his spine; he shivers with a sudden chill.</p><p>"<em>Dude! </em>Are you <em>fucking kidding me?!</em> You can't actually be doing <em>Luke fucking Skywalker</em> with me right now, can you? Are you <em>that fucking-</em>" The same ghostly hand becomes briefly visible and cuts through the air in a karate-chop motion. "Fucking <em>listen </em>to me, dickwad!"</p><p>Richie shuts up, fast.</p><p>"<em>Finally.</em> Look, it's me, okay? I don't know how, but I woke up after- after- you know, and I was in your disgusting apartment, watching you scribble in a notebook with a nearly empty whiskey bottle next to you." </p><p><em>He appeared then?</em> thinks Richie. <em>Oh, that means he saw me write my drunken fucking love confession. Great. </em>"Um," he says eloquently. "Yeah. Sorry."</p><p>"'Sorry,'" huffs the voice. <strike>(Eddie.)</strike> "You don't have to apologize to me. You just- you better start taking care of yourself, okay? It was scary seeing you write nonsense and then pass out. I don't want to witness that again."</p><p>Richie just looks at the empty spot that the voice is coming from. "'Twasn't nonsense, Eddie my love. 'Twas true."</p><p>A translucent face flickers into view. It's a face that is unmistakably Eddie's. It frowns for a second, and then disappears. "It <em>was</em> nonsense," he corrects. "Do you even remember what you wrote?"</p><p>"Uh-huh, I said I was sorry and that I loved you." Richie swipes away his tears.</p><p>"See? Nonsense," says <strike>Eddie</strike>, but he sounds uncertain and tentative, almost like he doesn't want to believe it. </p><p>Richie allows himself a brief moment of hope. Shaking his head, he says "<em>Not </em>nonsense."</p><p>"I- no, because that would mean-" It's <strike>Eddie's</strike> turn to laugh nervously. "Wait, what?"</p><p>Richie spreads his arms. <em>Nothing to lose now. </em>"I'm gay as <em>fuck.</em>" <em>Come one, come all, to Richie 'Trashmouth' Tozier's Comedy Special, where he ridicules himself in front of sporadically visible angels that show up in his apartment out of the blue!</em></p><p>"You're... no, that can't be true. 5% of adults in America are gay, right? That's 1 in 20. And there aren't 40 people in our friend group, Richie!" <strike>Eddie</strike> (Eddie) is shrill, and then he goes quiet, seemingly realizing what he just said.</p><p>Gears turn in Richie's brain. <em>1 in 20</em>, he thinks. <em>1 in 20 are gay... of course there aren't 40 people in our- oh. Ohhh. Oh </em>shit. "That's... just the most Eddie way to come out to someone I've ever heard," he says, and then bursts out crying. "<em>Eddie.</em> You really are... him. You really are Eddie."</p><p>"Yeah," says Eddie.</p><p>"And you're gay."</p><p>"Uh-huh." </p><p>Richie lets out a sobbing laugh. "Jesus Christ." He leans forward, feels around blindly until his hands meet the fabric of an invisible jacket. He pulls Eddie into a bear hug and doesn't let go. His heart physically <em>aches</em> because he never thought he'd get to hug Eddie again. "I missed you, man," he cries. </p><p>"I missed you too, Rich," whispers Eddie. "So fucking much."</p><p>Richie's knees buckle; he falls to the floor, taking Eddie down with him. "Where are your wings?"</p><p>"Don't have any." </p><p>"Then how do you know you're a guardian angel?" Richie hooks his chin over Eddie's invisible head, mouthing <em>Eddie Eddie Eddie</em> over and over again, like if he stops then Eddie will disappear forever.</p><p>Eddie sighs, sinking further into the embrace. He's practically curled up in Richie's lap. "Because I heard a voice in my head say-" He puts on a deep voice- "'You must protect him, Edward.'" </p><p>"I don't need protecting," Richie mumbles.</p><p>"You almost drank yourself to death ten days ago." Eddie's voice is soft. “Why?”</p><p>Richie feels shame blossom inside him. "’Cause... It just didn't seem worth it without you. Living, I mean."</p><p>"Richie," says Eddie, and it sounds like he's crying. "You're so fucking stupid."</p><p>"I know." Richie closes his eyes, leaning back against the wall with Eddie in his arms. The journal lies forgotten on the table. He rubs one hand up and down Eddie's back. </p><p>They sit like that, Eddie coming in and out of view. Eventually they both fall asleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Are you really a repressed gay guardian angel if you don't semi-homoerotically show your best friend how to make pancakes in a blatant reference to the pottery scene from Ghost?</p><p>Also includes me frantically trying to think of a way to bring Eddie back to life and settling with this stupid monstrosity.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW for death/alcohol mention (in a brief speculation made by Richie).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richie wakes up with a start. Eddie still lies asleep in his arms, having finally settled as a hazy translucent white. </p><p>"Thank you," says Richie, tears in his voice. He doesn't know who he's talking to - doesn't even care. "Thank you, whoever is out there. Thank you for bringing Eds back to me." He caresses Eddie's cheek, fighting the urge to kiss it. "I wasn't doing too well. I'm sure you knew, since you're god, or whatever. But... fuck. Ha! 'Buttfuck.' That's funny. Anyways, I know he's not, like, <em>here</em> here... I know he's not alive like before. If you wanted to bring him back to life, I wouldn't be opposed. It's just I- I thought I'd never get to talk to him again, you know? I thought I'd never get to say... <em>things....</em> to him. And now I can. So, thank you. Please don't take him away." </p><p>He dries his face with his sleeve, and as gently as possible, stands up - lifting Eddie into a bridal carry. Eddie's head falls onto Richie's shoulder; it makes butterflies in his stomach. Without waking Eddie, he eases him down onto the bed. Onto <em>Richie's</em> bed. </p><p>"There you go, buddy," he whispers. "Now you just get your rest, okay? You need it. I'll be here when you're ready to wake up. I promise."</p><p>It's hard to tell, but it looks like Eddie's face gets more color in it.</p><hr/><p>Richie cleans his apartment. He clears out all the trash from his bedroom, washes the dishes, and does the laundry. Then he showers for the first time in a while. <em>Gotta be presentable for the love of my life.</em> He gets dressed in a rainbow button-up that is so bright it makes him wonder how people don't realize that he's gay.</p><p>He cooks breakfast. Well, he <em>tries,</em> at least. He burns the eggs and, when trying to make pancakes, accidentally melts his good spatula. "Fuck!"</p><p>"What's wrong?"</p><p>Richie turns around. The blurry outline of Eddie stands in the hallway leading to the kitchen. "Oh. Uh, I melted my best spatula. Now all that's left is Shithead McFuckface over there." He gestures toward the spatula in question - a neon green one from the Dollar Tree. "I usually keep it locked away because it's <em>ugly</em> and a <em>disappointment</em>, but right now it's the only non-melted spatula I have, so."</p><p>Eddie's voice and outline gets closer until he's all but brushing up against Richie. "Here," he murmurs. <em>(Murmurs! </em>thinks Richie. <em>Why does he need to be </em>murmuring?<em> Are we about to fuck right now?!</em>) "It's tricky. You gotta wait until the batter starts to get air bubbles in it." He picks up Shithead McFuckface and hands it to Richie. One gentle hand rests on Richie's wrist and guides him as he flips another pancake.</p><p><em>Never in a million years did I think I'd spend a morning with my guardian angel-slash-love of my life as he homoerotically teaches me to make pancakes,</em> Richie thinks breathlessly. He swallows hard and attempts to think of a joke to crack in order to ruin the moment, but his brain short-circuits at the last second. "Y-yeah? Is that what you do, Eddie Spaghetti?" </p><p>The corner of Eddie's mouth twitches. "I remember when you used to call me that," he says, and he sounds <em>fond</em> instead of annoyed. "You know, I always liked them. The nicknames, I mean. Never hated them as much as I always pretended to. They made me feel special."</p><p>Richie feels like he's going to faint. His heart is in his throat. <em>This has to be a dream</em>, he decides. <em>Or I drank myself to death and this is heaven.</em></p><p>They finish the pancakes. Richie eats; Eddie watches. "Good?" asks Eddie.</p><p>"Uh-huh." Richie's cheeks are burning hot. "Delicioso. You should go on a baking show."</p><p>Eddie looks down at the table. His outline seems to be getting clearer, more stable. He smiles.</p><p>It tugs on Richie's insides. <em>Holy. Fucking. Shit.</em> Every ounce of his being longs to confess how he feels. "H...Hey Eds." His mouth is dry; his grip tightens on the edge of the table. </p><p>"What?" Eddie still doesn't look up. </p><p>"So, you're-" Richie's Adam's apple bobs as he gulps. "You're, uh, gay."</p><p>Eddie is silent for a little bit. The tips of his translucent ears turn pinkish. "Yeah."</p><p>"Yeah," says Richie, voice tapering off. He clears his throat, picking at skin on his thumb. "And I'm. I'm gay."</p><p>Eddie glances up this time, eyes flicking towards Richie's face for a split second. </p><p>Richie has to force the words out. They taste like lava. "And you know... you saw... what I wrote. In the journal. You saw... that. You... know... that I..." He grimaces, silently begging Eddie to just connect the dots so he won't have to keep talking.</p><p>"Mmm," Eddie hums. His expression is unreadable.</p><p>"Eds, I- I can't... this is so <em>hard.</em>" Richie's so tense that he doesn't even have the heart to make a vulgar joke, despite the opportunity presenting itself. "Look- just- I know you know. You know, and I- <em>I</em> know that you don't... y'know, have the same.... <em>f-feelings</em>... or- whatever. I just wanted-... I didn't have the balls to say this shit when you were <em>alive.</em> Okay? So I... I figured I'd let you know now. And tell you how much I-" A hard lump forms in his throat, making it painful to speak. He takes off his glasses and presses both hands to his face. </p><p>There's the sound of chair legs scraping against the tile floor, and then of footsteps padding closer.</p><p>Richie feels a pair of arms wrap around him. It makes him gasp. "Come on<em>,"</em> he breathes. "Don't... what're you doing, Eds? What..." </p><p>"Hey," Eddie says softly. "Hey."</p><p>Richie breaks down crying, hot tears pooling in his hands. So many emotions bubble up inside him - guilt from not being strong enough to carry Eddie out of Neibolt; regret because he never confessed his feelings when Eddie was alive; pure unadulterated joy at being able to touch and feel Eddie again, even under the circumstances. He stays frozen in the embrace until Eddie gently pulls away. </p><p>"Rich," whispers Eddie. "I love you. I've always loved you." His voice breaks, and now he's crying too, touching his forehead to Richie's and squeezing both of his forearms. Static zaps his skin.</p><p>"Th-That's-" Richie chokes out a laugh. "That's pretty lame, Eds." </p><p>Eddie giggles through his tears. "Fuck you."</p><p>Shocks crackle in the air between them. Richie looks, but a strange calm settles over him, and he doesn't say anything. "At least buy me dinner first," he says. "Eddie, fuck, <em>Eddie.</em> Can I kiss you?" </p><p>"Of course, asshole."</p><p>Richie brushes their lips together and then locks on, kissing Eddie as deeply as he can. It feels like they're miles apart, but also pushed up next to each other. Richie's stomach flip-flops. As they kiss, color floods into Eddie's face and body, sparking them both with bolts of electricity. Muffled words hit Eddie as if he's hearing them through thick sheets of cotton. Suddenly, something shoves into his chest, knocking him back. But he doesn't touch the floor. </p><p>"Oh," he breathes, opening his eyes to find that he's suspended in pitch darkness. "Richie?"</p><p>It's unsettling.</p><p>"Edward," greets a voice. "You are safe."</p><p>Eddie brings his hand to his chest, feeling his heart slam against his ribcage. "Why do I have a pulse?" <em>And why is that the question I ask first? I'm in endless black, listening to a mysterious voice boom out at me from all different directions, and I choose to ask about my </em>pulse?</p><p>"The electricity served its purpose," the voice says. "It is said on earth that a first kiss is electric. I simply reined in the energy of your purest love and channeled it into kinetic energy... energy which then shocked you back to life."</p><p>"Back to..." Eddie's <em>beating heart</em> leaps into his throat. "B-back to... what do you mean?" He refuses to allow himself to hope, but how can he not hope when this is the closest he's felt to being alive in months?</p><p>"Back to life. Two souls, tethered since childhood. Two lives entwined for years upon years. A love that only grew stronger, despite the distance. A love that survived a brave yet unjust death. Edward, your life was brutally cut off before you could become who you are meant to be. I am rectifying that."</p><p>Eddie would fall to his knees if he were standing on solid ground. "What are you?"</p><p>The voice reveals itself to be an enormous turtle, eyes as big as dinner plates, shell as vast as a lake. "I am Maturin. The creature you killed... It was my brother, equal yet opposite. It caused immeasurable amounts of destruction and ended so many lives. What you and your friends did was selfless, and I owe you a great debt. Therefore I am healing the wounds It inflicted. Look at me, Edward."</p><p>Eddie looks, transfixed by the galaxies swarming within Maturin's pupils.</p><p>"Open your eyes."</p><p><em>Huh,</em> Eddie thinks. <em>I didn't even know they were closed.</em> He forces them open.</p><p>"Eddie?!" Richie straddles him on the floor, mirroring the position they had been in all those months before. "Eds- oh god, oh <em>fuck, </em>are you okay?"</p><p>Eddie nods shakily. He sits up and pulls Richie into a bear hug. "I-" he starts. "Maturin. He's Pennywise's <em>brother,</em> he- he's grateful to us for killing It and- and he... he said he's making amends. He's healing the..." </p><p>"What?" asks Richie, pulling away a bit. </p><p>"<em>Stan. </em>We need to call Mike, he needs to call Patty, he needs to tell her-" Eddie's standing up, searching for a phone. "Jesus Christ, Rich, don't you have a landline?"</p><p>"No, because it's not 1950." Richie stands up too and takes his iPhone from his pocket. He dials Mike with trembling fingers. "What? What is it about Stan?"</p><p>Eddie swallows. "Maturin told me he was healing the wounds that Pennywise inflicted. He healed <em>me,</em> he brought me back to life, I'm <em>alive</em> now. I- I just- if he healed <em>me.... </em>if he's undoing what It did..."</p><p>On the other end of the line, Mike answers. Richie puts him on speakerphone and lets Eddie explain.</p><p>"<em>Eddie?!</em>" says Mike. "Richie- is that...?"</p><p>"It's me, Mikey," Eddie says, chest hurting with held-back sobs. "It's me. Maturin... he brought me back, and I thought- maybe... maybe Stan..."</p><p>"I- of course, Eddie! Of course! Maturin is a sacred figure to the Shokopiwah; he and Pennywise were brothers. If he's rewarding us for killing It... you're right. Don't hang up, I'm calling Patricia."</p><p>There's the sound of a landline dialing. Eddie glares pointedly at Richie, who shrugs.</p><p>"Patty?" Mike says. "Hello, it's Mike, I'm so sorry to bother you. I'm a friend of your husband's. Is now a good time?"</p><p>Faint voices on Patty's end. One specific voice comes through that makes Richie and Eddie trade a silent glance.</p><p>"Mike," says Stan Uris, warmly. "Is Eddie there?"</p><p>Eddie grasps Richie's phone. "<em>Stanley,</em>" he says. "Stan. How did you know-?" Tears sting his eyes. </p><p>"Maturin. He explained a lot. Namely that this happened because of a kiss."</p><p>"'How did it end up like this?'" sings Richie. </p><p>Eddie shoves his hand over Richie's mouth. "<em>Shut!"</em> he hisses, then turns back to the phone. "Yeah, uh. Huh, that's so weird, I wonder- I wonder who could have kissed? Ben and Bev, probably. You weren't there when we came back, so you couldn't have seen how they looked at each other, it was so disgusting."</p><p>"Yeah," Stan deadpans, "I'm <em>sure</em> it was Ben and Bev."</p><p>Richie sticks his tongue out and licks Eddie's hand, making Eddie shriek and pull it away to wipe on his pants. "<em>Anyway,</em>" he says through his teeth. "Dude! I missed you! We- god, we have to buy plane tickets, fly to wherever you are and meet you!" </p><p>"I'll cover the tickets," says Richie. "I'm loaded, Stanthony. Absolutely looooooaaa-"</p><p>Mike cuts him off. "We know," he says. "But hey, speaking of Bev and Ben- let's all hang up here; we can do a group video call instead, and include everyone."</p><p>So they do. And Bev dissolves into a teary mess at the sight of not only <em>Eddie,</em> but <em>Stan</em> - alive, safe, and smiling next to people who love them. Bill cries, too. He apologizes to Eddie for screaming at him; Bev apologizes to Stan for her visions; Mike apologizes to both of them for calling them back. </p><p>No one holds a grudge.</p><p>Sitting close to Richie's side, Eddie is fully content. He's breathing, his heart is beating, he can see and feel and hear, and he's filled with so much love. Love for these people; love from these people.</p><p>He has been stabbed in the face, impaled through the chest, buried under rubble, turned into a guardian angel, and now shocked back to life with electricity. Now, finally, he is <em>safe.</em> <em>Complete.</em></p><p>Richie is just as content. He's got an arm around the small of Eddie's back, holding him gently. His friends' laughter comes through the laptop. <em>This is it,</em> he thinks. <em>This is why it was worth it. This is why. Everything happened right.</em></p><p>
  <em>It's me and Eddie, and Bev and Ben, and Mike and Bill, and Stan - and Stan's wife - and we're how we were always meant to be.</em>
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  <em>Together.</em>
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